Short Stories From Out There

The Election

Hell is a democracy.

Now and then, forever for those who live there, Hell holds a vote. On the ballot is one question: Should the suffering end?

Everyone votes. Demons and souls. Sinners and worse sinners. Two souls step up. Volunteers to the process. One to rule if the votes go Yes. The other is to count the votes as they come in.

The one who will count sits in a chair, an ornate chair. A chair stained with those who sat there before. Blood and else. He gets to die for real. He gets his soul torn to shreds once and for all, but only if he's honest, properly counts, and marks each vote correctly.

He's handed a bone. It's from his leg. He can still feel where it should go. He doesn't scream to hold it or to miss it. You get a thick skin after a while. He dips it in blood. Yes, it's his own. He sits in front of two large stone wheels, slowly spinning, with large, flat edges on each side. It's time to start.

The other volunteer steps up and turns, the promised ruler at the end of suffering. He motions the first voter to come. Using careful words, he gets a moment with each soul. It's a democracy, after all, and a candidate must campaign.

The first voter walks to the stones, the chair, and the tallying soul. He states his answer, Yes or No.

Should the suffering end?

No.

The voter is motioned to one side as the candidate drops his head. He takes a breath, then greets the next voter. He whispers something and smiles in the face of this soul. The second vote is a Yes. The voter motioned to the other side.

Another Yes, then some No's. Back and forth it goes. There are many millions to get through. It takes forever, far sooner for those who live there.

The demons step up, now and then, taking their turn. The candidate looks down as they pass. They laugh and then turn to the tallying soul. Every demon votes Yes, end the suffering.

The souls continue, and there are many, many No's. The candidate is pleading, smiling, and begging. Even less say Yes. He's shouting, screaming, and demanding their Yes's. He's shaking them, and striking them, and punching them, but they all say No. Except for the demons, they are all about the Yes and laughing their evil, evil laughs.

And that's it. There are only three left.

The candidate turns. He looks at the man in the chair and says a quiet Yes. A mark is placed on a wheel, still spinning slowly. The soul on the chair casts his vote. A Yes.

Then comes the sound of wings immense, divine, perfect, near god-like in their power. Everyone kneels. Demons and souls. Hell shakes to its core at the sound of the NO. Then the wings sound and fade as if to oblivion. The tallying soul, shaking, marks that vote.

"Count them!" voices call with a thundering echo, and the count happens.

"What say you, tallying soul? What say you for the count!"

"A landslide," he says. "A landslide for No!"

A cheer rises across Hell, mostly from souls.

See, there's a rule. Anyone who votes No gets a reprieve, a chance to not suffer. It's that simple.

Well, not quite.

Their reprieve is also a break for the demons. The souls who voted No get to make the souls who voted Yes suffer. They get to inflict, and they get to break. They get to maim and do all the evil things done in Hell.

Now, you may ask yourself, "What? That doesn't make sense. Why not just vote Yes and end it all."

Good question. Thanks for paying attention. You see, many in Hell like it there, after a fashion. They get used to all the pain, as most people do. It becomes part of them. Then one day, forever for those who live there, they begin to want it, to crave it, and need it. Finally, they need to give it. After you've been in Hell long enough, you dream of nothing else. All you want is to be a demon, if only for a day. Or an hour. Or a minute. Even an instant will do.

So when the vote comes around, it gives the long-suffering residents one chance. There you go. Why would they vote Yes and give up their greatest wish? Why would they end it when they are so close to their dream?

The man in the chair is the first to go. And he goes, completely. There's nothing left but a new layer on the chair. Not enough to come back, ever again. He's free.

But the candidate. Oh, the poor soul, he pays the most. Everyone who said No gets a shot, a yank, a punch, or a bite. He volunteered, knowing the winners would tear him to shreds.

When he finally escapes into madness, Hell goes quiet. The Yes voters, who've tried to hide, are caught. Demons round them up. They are tied, nailed, pinned, hung, and made ready for their great reward.

A loud cheer goes through Hell as the "No" souls begin. They revel in their task. They excel in the torture. The screams are great, wild, and true. New ways to suffer are invented, oh, and how. Humanity's insane inventiveness comes to bear and is viciously applied.

Demons stand back in awe and learn. They take notes, they compare, nod, and stare. It's their break. It's a chance to get new ideas, to start anew.

After a time, it goes back to before. Demons take it back, and every soul is fodder. New tricks are applied. The inventors become victims of their crazy genius. Hell runs red and gains so much more power. The one who watches from his mighty throne smiles. It eases his pain ever so slightly.

And it works, this system. It always will. For Hell is a democracy, the greatest there is.